Hand In Glove
by NevermindNirvana
Summary: It's hard, when you're in love with the daughter of the one who killed you. Drabble I wrote for fun. Somewhat disturbing and disjointed. Flames welcome. Kevin Gedman X OC.


**I don't own American Horror Story.**

She was everything he ever wanted.

Yes, he knew it was wrong. He was betraying his comrades, betraying everyone he knew. Sure, it hurt for a little while, but soon he ceased to care. They certainly didn't give a shit about him, so why should be bother with them? All of them were bonded in a sick way. They barely even knew each other before they died. But, they were stuck together for all eternity because the same man had killed them all.

Purgatory on Earth.

Hell on Earth.

_Sheol. Gehenna._

But this girl….She was a bit of Heaven.

* * *

He was one of the lucky ones.

All of them were able to leave the school and roam around at night. It was oddly comforting to do so. He'd stay with the rest of them most of the time, but sometimes he'd ramble around his old haunts. All had either been well taken care of or totally rotted out.

They would usually hang by Murder House, lying in wait for Langdon. Hoping he would come outside. But he never did. Eventually, they would give up and leave, cursing him under their breaths.

But he would stay. He hoped that one day she would catch a glimpse of him. Or even come outside in the yard.

Alas, the same as Tate.

He'd shuffle back to his own personal Hell, stomach aching, head pounding, groin pulsing.

_I need you. I want to see you. I want you. Please. Please._

* * *

She was an addiction, almost. A craving. More powerful than anything he'd ever done before. Golden hair, brown eyes. The faint scarring under her eye.

They knew everything about her; same with Tate and his bitch. But he knew the most about her. She didn't really care to eat, she spent most of her time reading, she rarely spoke to anyone. She wasn't very aware of her body, either. He knew almost every curve. Small breasts, slim waist, barely-there ass, good-size hips.

Oh, how he wanted to touch. Kiss her. Kiss her scar, wrap his arms around her and hold her.

She was his almost Nabakovian obsession.

Nothing could take her from his mind. Not all the weed, methamphetamines, uppers, downers, and heroin could make her go away.

She was his high.

One Halloween, he got lucky.

He was standing in front of the gate, and she had - by Fate or by God, who knows - came outside. He smiled. She approached closer, slowly. She had read in novels things like this happen all the time. He stuck his hand through the iron bars of the gate, still smiling.

She stared for a second.

"I feel like…somehow…" her voice was soft, just above a whisper. "I feel as if I…know you."

He looked at her. _C'mon._

"Maybe you do know me."

She gave him the ghost of a smile.

She turned her head, to see if her father was watching.

And very slowly, she took his hand.

He promised her this would be the best night of her life.

They didn't do much of anything but walk around and talk. She was shy, but she held his hand the whole time.

He kissed her. She had enjoyed it, surprisingly. Asked her questions about her life, though he already knew the answers. He stroked her scar. She touched the wound on his face.

She smiled for real this time.

* * *

He stole her. To save her. To save himself.

Tate had come after them, all of them. The few remaining friends he had possessed were dead. But there was still time to save them both.

Two hours until midnight.

In the darkness, he held her, pledged eternal devotion, kissed her face. Fuck Tate, fuck everything.

She was crying. Rambling on about being lied to all her life.

He held her closer. He told her how much he loved her. Eased her body back. He kissed her again. She whimpered. His weight was pressing onto her now. She didn't fight back. She welcomed it.

He groaned. Kissed and bit her neck.

Her hands pressed against his chest. She sighed.

Her scar was bleeding. He licked it.

They were tangled together in the darkest places of the school, not caring what would happen next.

Tongues searching, bodies pressing, hips twitching, pleasure searing both their dead souls.

He howls and sinks into her.

She gasped and let her body relax. He had never expected her to respond like that. She patted his head and tangled her fingers in his hair.

"I love you…"

"I love you, too. I always have, and I always will. I won't let him hurt you."

"It's not your fault. He never….never told me." she sank her fingers into his wound again.

"I know. I know. Stay with me."

"I…"

"Promise." Pleading. Desperate.

She holds him, just as he held her.

* * *

He found them. She'd begun to cry. This was the first time he'd really seen his daughter cry. He'd kill the bastard, he'd waited for this moment for years. Then his nightmares would be over.

He would be safe.

He was bruised and beaten bloody, but he still pleaded and begged. Down on his knees, desperate for his dead soul, and also for her.

"I'll give you whatever you want….please, you had no reason to kill me…."

Barrel pointed at his head. She squeezes his hand, her body heaving with quiet sobs.

"Heh, just like the first time, eh?"

"I'll give you anything, Langdon, anything, please, let me have her. All I want is her. Please…"

"Shut up." The gun clicks.

He turns his head and reaches to stroke her face on last time. _I can't win._

"I love you. Wait for me, baby…I'll see you soon…"

False senses of security heighten. He turns his head back, closes his eyes.

Grinning.

The rifle fires.

Finally. _There is peace._

* * *

Tate stares at his daughter. Pathetic. Soaked in that bastard's blood. Sobbing.

He doesn't feel anything.

"I'm not a bad girl, Daddy…"

He turns around. This will break Violet's heart, but…

"You can rot for all I care, Frances."

The rifle is back in his hands again.

"Daddy…."

"I'm sorry, honey. I'm sorry."

Two can now be one.

**A/N: This is the most twisted and disturbing thing I've ever written...Yes, this is a spin off my earlier fic. Frances Langdon has grown up. Yes, Tate shot his own child because he didn't want her to suffer. Flames are welcome.**


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